


Lovers and Friends

by LadyFangs



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 20:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10998759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFangs/pseuds/LadyFangs
Summary: Where did Ragnar go after he left the platform following Jarl Borg's execution? And who did he go to?Lagertha returns to Kattegat as an Earl. But there's a lot she and Ragnar have to talk about before they reach an alliance.Edited 9/26/17 for punctuation, flow.





	Lovers and Friends

He sees the image of an eagle as he begins to cut the skin from Jarl Borg’s back.

The work goes slowly  as he takes his time, letting the blood run down his hands and pool under his feet. It is magical, this _thing_ that he is doing, taking the upmost care as he carves each rib from the spine, one by one, the blood spattering across his face, and onto his robes. He can see the man’s heart beating quickly. The lungs heave up and down, but the Jarl remains silent—suffering his fate with dignity. Ragnar admires him for it.

 Torvi has passed out, and Siggy’s face is buried in Rollo’s shoulder. Aslaug is covering her mouth with her hands, but Lagertha ... She is looking right at him, her face set. She nods silently as he reaches into Borg’s back and removes the lungs, setting them on his shoulders.

It is done.

And it is monstrously beautiful.

He steps back to take in his work, dispassionately appraising the carnage before slowly walking away.

It is so silent the eagle’s cry pieces through the night air. No one else has moved, except for one. As Ragnar leaves, so does Lagertha.

The rest of the crowd slowly begins to come to, as if emrging from a collective trance. They look around at each other, and the platform, with only what's left of Borg’s body on it, and slowly begin to make their separate ways home.

**-xxx-**

She waits for him in the place that he asked. It is a house. On the beach. Their farmhouse, now rebuilt.

It catches her off guard to see it, lit by torches, standing in the place of the home they had made for themselves more than 20 years ago. It is like a vision from another time. And she cannot help it. A choked sob comes out. Each step she takes to the door is like walking into the past, and back into memories  almost too painful to bear.

Lagertha cannot believe that Ragnar has done this. She opens the door and goes inside, leaning against a wall and taking deep breaths to calm herself.  It is too much all at once.  It is too much, what Ragnar has done. Silent tears fall as she walks around inside, marveling at the intricately woven walls that she knows were made by her former hands. This is a place she had not been to since they fled—she, Bjorn and Gyda, Athelstan. And Ragnar. He had almost died saving them and she is reminded of the the long days and nights filled with uncertainty as they prayed over his injured body,  fearing that they would lose him. 

 _Husband, father, friend, lover_. Now she thinks she would have rather lost Ragnar that way, than in the manner in which she did.

Her breathing is steadier now, and she wipes the tears from her eyes as she continues looking around. There is a large bed in the middle of the room. And off to the side in the area where the children and Athelstan once slept, are their beds, posted against the wall. On each is an item. Athelstan’s bible. A small doll that belonged to Gyda, and a tiny shield that was Bjorn’s. All are charred. They are all that remain of their life in this house. . 

The hearth has also been rebuilt, with Ragnar’s old farming tools hanging on the walls. It's all so moving, and she feels, for just a moment, that it could really be home.

But it is not. It is just a monument to the past.

The door opens and she turns around to see Ragnar standing there. He has cleaned the blood from himself, and is dressed in a long, black tunic. His feet are bare, and he is staring at her with an intensity that further unsettles her. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but before she get out the words he silences her with his hand, and picks her up, carrying her to the bed. Lagertha understands. She doesn’t resist him as he begins to undress her slowly, methodically as if he is forcing himself into restraint.  She lifts her body as she slides her dress down, letting it fall to the floor. He lifts his tunic over his head and removes his pants, letting those fall by her dress. She can see the tension in his body, and she moves to touch him, letting her fingers trace a path across his chest, following the dark line of thick hair that travels down to his navel. She leans in to kiss him, gently at first, and he kisses her back softly, and then, more intently.

And then, he breaks. He pushes her onto her back and brings his body to lay on top of hers.

There is no preparation as he forces her legs open and pushes himself inside her. She is not ready, and she cries out in pain. But he doesn’t stop. And each thrust is more powerful than the last as he takes her, faster and harder. Their rhythm increases in intensity, as her body adapts to what he’s doing to it. Pain recedes to pleasure and all she can do is hold on.

It is not love. It is not lust, it is need in its barest form.

It has gotten hot in the house, and their bodies are moist with sweat. Ragnar has no intention of stopping this anytime soon.  He pauses just long enough to turn her around, lay her on her stomach, and enter her again. There is too much going on inside of him and this is the only way to get it out. She is the only woman who can handle him like this. He has never shared such an experience with Aslaug. Lagertha will bend to him, but she will not break. And she will give as good as she will take.

And she does give, clenching her muscles around his, and squeezing him tight between her thighs as he continues fucking her into tomorrow. The sensation is sending tremors through his body. He goes harder, deeper and her moaning grows huskier. He whispers in her ear, and laces his fingers into hers as he obeys her commands.

His climax hits him suddenly, and he yells as he empties himself inside her. Lagertha is only two seconds behind, and he groans as she spasms around him, milking him into her body.

Their breathing is quick and heavy, as he lays on her back bringing their interlocked hands to rest on either side of their heads.

“My wife…” he whispers to her. “I love you.”

She moves a bit, and he rolls off her in order to face her. She looks at him.

“Tell me again,” she says softly.

“I love you,” he says again as he lowers his head to nuzzle against her neck. “My wife,” he murmers.

He has not forgotten about that. And she knows it. He moves off of her and lays on his back. His heart is still racing from the sex.

She comes to lay her head on his shoulder. “Ragnar…”

He glances her from the corner of his eye before looking back at the ceiling “You are still my wife even if you don’t live in my home.”

 They slip into silence, listening to each other breathe.

 Finally, they reach a normal rhythm. And now that his mind is clear, he has several questions.

“How did you become Earl?”

She looks at him with a straight face and tells him the truth.

“Sigvard had me beaten when I returned to Hedeby. He tried to strip me and humiliate me in front of court. I saw my opportunity. And when he grabbed for me I stabbed him in the eye. His own men—the same men who were here in Kattegat—they were the ones who finished him off. They told the people I had denounced you. There was no justification for what Sigvard did to me. It won me friends, and it earned him more enemies.”

“And now, here we are,” he says.

It hurts to think of someone beating his wife. And when he considers the series of events that led her on that path, he cannot help but feel that is all his fault—a consequence of his own bad judgement.

“Here we are Ragnar,” Lagertha says. Her voice is hoarse from screaming, and it’s deeper. Huskier. He feels himself stirring again.

“Why did you agree to come assist me?” He asks.

“For our son.”

He doesn’t understand. “Did he ask you too?”

“Yes, he did, but I did not come only for that.”

She shifts position to move her body on top of his, and he finds himself staring up at her breasts and her face. She starts grinding against him, moving her hips in a circle. His manhood slides between the curve of her ass, and it starts to throb. But she keeps him there, refusing to let him enter her.

“Then what do you mean?” It comes out constrained, as he tries to distract himself from what she’s doing to his body.

Lagertha looks down at Ragnar as she stops, and changes direction with her hips. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his eyes closed. His hands are gripping the furs.

“I did it to secure a future for Bjorn. Outside of Kattegat, or with it. Because one day we will die. And Bjorn will lead.”

She lifts up just a little, enough for him to slide back inside her. They both moan at the same time.

“Be with me,” he says, stilling her movements to sit up,  keeping her on his lap.

Lagertha’s strategy makes sense. So much sense. And he understands now. She is thinking about the future of their people too. He is amazed how much alike they are, he and his wife. And he will never stop calling her that, divorce be dammed, because it is what she has always meant to him.

He studies her face as she begins to ride him. His hands are around her waist, her arms around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Their movement is quiet and gentle now, unhurried. There is nowhere to be. And nowhere to go at the moment.

Now, they are just talking, and making love.

She lowers her forehead to his, and they stay like that moving slowly, noses touching.

“What if I remarry?” She asks. He feels a stabbing pain in his chest.

“Then I will have to kill him,” He says with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his voice. She laughs, softly.

“What if I don’t remarry, but I find someone I like?”

“I may not kill him, but he will be injured.”

She leans down kissing him and asks, more serious this time, “What if I have another child?” He stops moving, and looks at her.

Lagertha’s eyes are bright with unshed tears. And he knows this is the one thing she has always wanted. It’s the thing that tore them apart.

“Can you…have another child?” he asks hesitantly, his voice cracking with emotion. Hope leads him to imagine her pregnant again carrying his seed, and he remembers how she looked with Bjorn and Gyda, and their last son, who didn’t make it. Lagertha glows when she is with child, and it is breathtaking to see.

“I don’t know.” Her lip is quivering, and he kisses her gently. But the tears are already starting to flow, and she can’t stop them. He takes deep breaths, trying to keep away his own.

All he can do is wrap his arms around her and hold her as she cries quietly on his shoulder, body trembling with grief.  He remembers his prayer at Uppsala, asking Odin who would bear him another son after the miscarriage of their last one. And he feels the burning guilt of his betrayal, and the burden of her sadness. All she ever did was love him, and all he did was find a new womb to fill. 

The gods have granted him more sons...with a woman he does not love.

“Shh…” he rocks Lagertha slowly, his hands stroking her hair. Ragnar has no words to offer for comfort. He has no answers to give for closure. They are both lost. 

Her breathing is ragged as she slowly regains her composure, and when she speaks again, her voice is low, but strong.

“I want to fight with you. As you friend, and your ally, as the mother of your eldest son. But I cannot fight with you as your wife,” she says. And he knows why. A wife of an earl on the battlefield commands a high price. This woman is both his weakness and his strength. And there is another reason why she cannot come home.

Aslaug.

The princess is his legal wife. And while Bjorn is grown, the rest of his sons are not. And neither they nor Aslaug can defend themselves.

“You cannot leave them, you have to keep them safe” Lagertha says, her fingers tugging at his beard. Her tears now dry.

He kisses her. What is done, is done, and they can’t change it. But what they can do is plot a new way forward.

Ragnar feels himself rise inside of her again, and he bounces her gently on his lap. Soon, their rhythm is back. And they work on sealing their arrangement the rest of the night.

They will be lovers, and they will be friends.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you'd like more of these stories, please let me know. I'm curious about the following, so if you're interested or on the ship, please drop a review. Thanks!


End file.
